


Whale Tail

by Whiskey-and-Denial (Powerfulweak)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Cockles, M/M, Panties, Panty Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 22:16:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5982580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Powerfulweak/pseuds/Whiskey-and-Denial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misha could've edited out the plumber's crack, but what would've been the fun in that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whale Tail

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this video](https://twitter.com/mishacollins/status/697225703897477121)
> 
> I've never written Cockles before and I place 100% of the blame on [Angrysouffle](http://angrysouffle.tumblr.com/)

Misha’s face fills the frame of the camera. “You ready?” he asks. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Jensen grumbles, unable to hold back his grin because, c’mon, it’s Misha. “Let’s do this.” 

“Ok guys, let’s get started,” Jensen calls out to West and Maison, who are standing by with brooms in their hands. Jensen hits record but Misha’s face still hangs in the shot for a moment longer. “Misha… um, we’re recording.” Immediately, they begins to get to work, Misha casually directing his children as they sweep and smooth out the sandpit. 

“This is going to take forever,” Jensen chuckles, watching Maison take very careful strokes with the broom around the edge.

“We’ll timelapse it,” Misha offers as he works. “We don’t need audio to get the message across.” Jensen shrugs, trying not to shake the camera. He’ll leave the video editing up to Misha. 

Once the sand is relatively smooth, Misha crouches down near the far corner, scoring a line in the sand with his finger. 

“Ok, now West, we’re going to be writing a special message to the people on twitter?” he explains to his son, who continues to pat down the sand at the edges.

“Why?” West asks.

“Because we want to make them feel better.” He says, pausing for a moment from scooping sand out of what will be the ‘O’.

“They’re sick?” West asks.

“Some are,” Misha answers, scooping away the extra sand from the ‘Y’ and smoothing it down again. “and some are sad, and some are both. We want to make them feel better and less alone.” Jensen smiles at the comment. It always amazes him how Misha talks to his children, and children in general for that matter. He never talks down to them or is dismissive of them like some parents can be (and, Jensen can admit, he himself has been on occasion). He has a way of simplifying complicated things and listening to his kids so that they know that their opinions matter.

“Ok, Westie, can you make an ‘E’ next to the ‘R’?” West kneels down, carving a letter E into the sand next to his father. Maison rubs her little hands over the edge of the sandpit, patting it down wordlessly, binky still locked in her mouth.

“Alright now, Mais, West, why don’t you two get your buckets and pour some water into the letters?” Misha says as West finishes digging out the ‘E’. West stands and moves behind Jensen, grabbing his small bucket out of a larger water tub, spilling water out as he does. 

Misha stands and moves around to the opposite corner of the pit. He kneels down, leaning over and drawing the next word in the sand. Jensen lets his gaze linger on the long lines of Misha’s body, lean muscle in his shoulder flexing as he holds himself up over the pit. Jensen snorts when he notices the hint of a plumbers crack peeking out from the top of Misha’s low slung jeans, but the laugh dies when he catches sight of a flash of pink. 

Pink lace, specifically.

It’s barely visible; Jensen doubts the low-res camera on the phone will even pick it up against Misha’s tan skin, but he can see it clear as day. Just a small hint of pink lace popping over the hem of his jeans. Jensen licks his lips, pushing away his urge to reach out and pull Misha’s jeans up or even just touch the lace. 

Misha moves in front of the camera and Jensen is sure that all of this is intentional; his back arches slightly, jeans slipping down farther as he moves from side to side exposing even more of his ass and the delicate pink lace.

“Uh, Mish,” Jensen pipes up. “You got some plumbers crack going on there.”

“Like what you see?” Misha asks coyly, not turning back to look as he carves the last word in the sand. Jensen feels the blood rushing to his face and his eyes dart to the kids, who are more focused on running pails of water to the sand pit than on their dad or him.

“Jesus, Misha, there's kids present,” Jensen mumbles under his breath. Misha gives a throaty chuckle as he and the kids clean up the edges in the letters.

The message stares back at Jensen from the sand pit: “You are not alone.” He smiles to himself, glad they are finally able to do this. 

“Should I stop rolling?” He asks, looking over the camera while his thumb hovers over the red button. Misha gets to his feet, finally tugging up his jeans. 

“Let me see,” he says, taking a step back and glancing at the image in the camera. “Yeah, that works.” Jensen hits stop as Misha wrangles the kids back toward the house.

“Ok you two, let's go get cleaned up before Dad and Uncle Jensen have to get to work.”

Later, when they are back on set for a long evening of shooting, Jensen crosses the lot to Misha’s trailer and knocks lightly on the door.

“Mish?” He calls out. The door opens immediately to Misha, already hair and makeup ready, phone held tightly in his hand. His face lights up when he sees Jensen.

“Hey, come on in,” he says, holding the door open and letting the other man inside.

“I just wanted to stop by before you went to wardrobe.” Jensen says. “You busy?”

“No, no, I'm just fixing up the video from today.” He hands the phone to Jensen, who hits play, watching the sped up footage of Misha and the kids writing in the sand.

“I see you didn't edit out the crack.” Jensen says, raising an eyebrow. 

“I decided not to,” Misha replies. “Besides, the fans love my ass.”

“Oh, so that’s who that was for,” Jensen offers a skeptical smirking. Misha gives a shrug in reply. “And the pink lace panties? Who were those for?” Jensen words come out low and heated. He sets down the phone on the counter and moves toward Misha, backing him against the low couch.

“Ah, you saw those.” Misha says coyly, but flashing a Cheshire Cat smile that says the action was anything but innocent.

“Yeah, I did,” Jensen growls as he wraps his hands around Misha’s waist. His fingers travel down, slipping beneath the waistband of his jeans and sliding over the silky lace stretched across Misha’s ample ass.

“So, you just decided to wear low cut jeans and pink lace panties and for the fans, when you know what they do to me?” Misha gives him a patient look as he rubs slow circles over Jensen’s biceps.

“I can't be held accountable for your reactions, Jensen,” he replies with mock innocence. “It's not in my contract.” Jensen surges forward with a heated kiss, knowing only that will quiet Misha’s smart mouth. Misha whimpers softly, his arms coming up and wrapping around Jensen's neck as he pushes him against the wall.

“You tease,” Jensen mutters against the kiss.

“You love it,” Misha says before capturing his lips once more. Jensen’s fingers dig into the flesh of his ass, squeezing painfully and causing Misha to yelp in surprise.

“Watch it there, Jensen,” He whispers. “Don’t want to bruise the merchandise. Besides, I got a special pair just for you.” Jensen stops and draws back with a curious look. 

“You did?” 

Misha leans forward, whispering into Jensen’s ear. “Black satin.” A slow smile spreads across Jensen face and he moves in, kissing Misha one more time. 

“Bring ‘em out, Dmitri.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This pretty piece of crack fic was written as part of [SPN Coldest Hits Challenge](http://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/) for February. Theme is "Pink Lace is the New Black"


End file.
